


Hellevator

by Artificially_Inane



Series: Road Not Taken [1]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Car Accidents, Character Death, Eating Disorders, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Schizophrenia, Self-Harm, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:00:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25681693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artificially_Inane/pseuds/Artificially_Inane
Summary: Chan misses Stray Kids more than anything.He just wants to see them again.WARNING: This is going to have several triggering elements in it, please read the tags. If you can't handle it, DO NOT READ IT.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Everyone, Han Jisung | Han/Everyone, Hwang Hyunjin/Everyone, Kim Seungmin/Everyone, Lee Felix (Stray Kids)/Everyone, Lee Minho | Lee Know/Everyone, Seo Changbin/Everyone, Yang Jeongin | I.N/Everyone
Series: Road Not Taken [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862257
Comments: 6
Kudos: 87





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This Chapter contains: Referenced Character Deaths, Mentions of Self-Harm, Car Accidents, and Thoughts of Suicide

_ Hyung, why did you let us go? _

_ Hyung, didn’t you care? _

_ Hyung, you should have done more. _

_ You were worthless. _

_  
_ _  
_ _ A failure. _

Chan woke up with a choked scream, sweat dripping down his face. He shot out of bed, running through the dorm and slamming every door open to be met with the same sight he had been met with every day. Dark rooms, void of all possessions and people.

“Oh,” he said, blinking. “Right.”   
  
He began laughing, clutching his arms to his chest. “That’s right! They’re all gone! And you couldn’t save them!”

He laughed and he laughed, tears streaming down his cheeks. He dug his nails into his flesh to ground himself, blood bubbling up from beneath his skin. Deep down he knew that he needed to stop, to get a grip over himself.

But would he ever be able to?

_ Failure. _

He had watched as the trending #BangChanBestLeader had been replaced with #SorryBangChan seemingly overnight.

_ Worthless _ .

The hatred from both antis and STAYS - should he even call them that? - was tearing him apart more and more every day. Had he not been through enough already? Had watching the members of his group die not been enough for the universe?

Did it want him to die too?

He couldn’t blame it.

But he kept pushing himself to get through. His manager had set him up a solo career. Why should he live in the past?   
  


Why should he live now?

Chan shook his head to clear it of the toxic thoughts, the voices that tormented him.

  
It didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was his future.

But he didn’t want that future.

  
He wanted his future with Stray Kids back.

He wanted his hugs from Felix and the cute but still very disrespectful name calling from Jisung back. He wanted Hyunjin’s laugh. He wanted Seungmin’s smile. He wanted Minho’s cooking and Changbin’s willingness to work out with him back.

He wanted Jeongin. Poor, innocent, cute, loving Jeongin. Jeongin who had looked at him and within his last moments had whispered a quiet “Why didn’t you care?” before going limp on the ambulance stretcher, not another word to escape his lips again.

Chan missed them all so much.

He had cried so much.

He had bled so much. The angry slashes and scabs on his arms and legs to show himself that he was still there.

That he had failed them and not been for them when they needed him the most.

His manager had noticed. The stylists had noticed and dressed him in long sleeved shirts and sweatpants so that the fans didn’t.

Chan didn’t care if they did.

Chan just didn’t care.

His music felt empty and emotionless. So did he.   
  
He wanted to feel something again.   
  
So the cuts got worse.

They moved up his arms and down his legs and to his hips and stomach.

His head was constantly filled with the screaming of the voices, of Jeongin’s last words to him, of the horrible scenes from the accident.

The broken and bloodied bodies of his friends being pulled through the shattered windows of the car.   
  
Their bodies being covered in white sheets.

The way that their families ignored him at the funeral, as though he wasn’t truly hurting the way they were.

He really wasn’t. They weren’t his blood relatives. He hadn’t spent most of his life with them.

He would never truly know about the way a five-year-old Seungmin acted at the dinner table. He would never really know the whole story behind how Changbin got in trouble for sneaking a rabbit into their house.

He shouldn’t feel as horrible as he did as he watched the families of his group members leave the cemetery as he still stood by the graves of his friends.

He didn’t believe that he deserved to have known them at all.

They were all so amazing and talented and what was he?

Nothing without them.

Chan stared at the graves and cried silently for hours, the grief and self-hatred pouring through every crack of his body.

The trees rustled and the birds chirped as if the universe was mocking him, that everything was fine except for him.

And he felt worse and worse.

He sat beside Jeongin’s grave and cried into his hands, not wanting to leave Jeongin’s side.

He had left it before, he did not wish to do so again.

His manager found him still at the headstone several hours later and simply lifted him to his feet and walked him to the car, not saying a word. They drove back to the empty dorms that Chan had refused to leave and Chan walked inside, going to his room and sitting on his bed with no change in expression, the silent tears still slipping down his cheeks.

He sat there for hours upon hours in his uncomfortable suit, his expression unchanging.

He stared at the ground in front of him and wished it had been him who had died instead.

There would have been less grieving, he thought. Changbin or Minho would have been excellent leaders to take his place. Felix could have spoken in English with Jisung, the boy was quite good at it. Jeongin and Seungmin and Hyunjin could all have fun and laugh without him, it’s not like they did it when he was there anyways.

He doubted he would be missed for very long.

He was just one person among billions of others.

Why should he matter?   
  
But Chan was not the one that had died.

Instead he was the one that had lived to grieve and cry and lose his mind over the fact that he had lost the seven people he was closest to.

The people that had been there for him when he thought he would be let go by the company he had trained under for years, but allowed him to debut and follow his dream.

His best friends.

His  _ family _ .

Bang Chan was falling apart.

It was only a matter of time before he fell too far to be saved.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Character Death, Suicide, Self-Harm, Schizophrenic Episodes, Car Accidents, Eating Disorders

Seven.

The number seven had started to mean everything to Chan.

Seven times he walked through the dorm every day and checked the bedrooms.

Seven times a day he cried over the friends he had lost.

Seven cuts on each thigh, on each wrist, on each hip, on his stomach.

Seven friends gone, with no hope they would return.

The scenes of the crash played much more often than that.

He had lay awake for hours every night, watching the horrible scenes that unfolded from his memory, as though he wasn’t in his own head and rather another entity that had witnessed the crash.

Chan watched as he stepped out of the car, onto the sidewalk, a split-second before the semi slammed into the back of the van where the rest of his group members still sat. He watched as an unbuckled Hyunjin was thrown forward through the windshield, his bloodied body landing with a sickening crack on the ground. He watched as Changbin was crushed into the back of the seat in front of him, blood splattering all over the car. He watched as Felix’s head was snapped backwards, breaking his neck and making his final moments quick and painless.

Jeongin had been halfway out of the car and had received a deep, bloody gash across his neck that would give him but a few more minutes of pain.

And Chan had been fine.

But rather than staying by his bleeding and still alive maknae’s side and dressing his wound, he had frantically tried to wake up Hyunjin, who was already too far gone to be saved.

And the paramedics had tried to be quiet when talking about Jeongin, but Chan had heard them anyway.

And the guilt and pain had grown.

“If someone had put pressure on his wound, he could have lived.”

  
  
But Chan hadn’t. Chan had lost one more friend than necessary.

And it was his fault.

So when Jeongin’s voice started telling him to make the cuts deeper, he listened.

When it told him to buy the bottles of painkillers, he listened.

Because it was Jeongin.

And Chan loved Jeongin.

Chan missed Jeongin.

So he would do what Jeongin’s voice said while he still had the chance.

And soon the others began telling him things as well.

“Stop eating,” said Jeongin’s voice, and Chan stopped.

“Start eating,” said Changbin’s, “And then get rid of it.”

So Chan threw it all up.

“Stop sleeping,” said Jisung’s, and Chan obeyed.

Chan didn’t sleep for days.

He wouldn’t have at all if he had not fallen unconscious in the living room.

“Stop going into work,” said Hyunjin’s, and Chan had stopped doing so.

His manager came to the dorm every morning to check up on him.

“Stop working,” suggested Seungmin’s, and Chan had.

Chan’s laptop had been sitting unused on his desk for a week.

“Stop breathing,” said Minho’s.

And what was Chan to do other than listen?

He walked into the bathroom, grabbing the razor off the counter and beginning to cut.

Seven on his right thigh.

Seven on his left.

Seven on his left wrist.

Seven on the right.

Seven on each hip.

Seven on his stomach.

With a soft sob, Chan turned on the faucet to the bathtub and plugged up the drain.

As the tub slowly filled with water, Chan took one last walk around the dorm, staring into the empty rooms with tears running down his cheeks.

He hoped to see them soon.

Once he walked back into the bathroom, he opened up the pill bottles that Jeongin’s voice had told him to buy, placing the pills one by one onto his tongue until the almost empty bottle fell out of his shaky hands.

The room was beginning to spin.

Everything hurt.

How much longer did he have?

  
He stood on shaky legs and lowered himself into the water of the bathtub, the fresh slices he had made on his arms and legs seeping red into the water.

And as his eyes closed for the last time and his head slipped under the water, he heard the voices of his seven members say. “We’ll see you soon.”

And Chan’s world went completely dark as the bloody red water filled his lungs.

\--

Seven hours later, Chan’s manager walked into the silent dorm.

Seven seconds later he saw the water coming from the bathroom.

Seven steps took him to the entrance of the room.

Seven knocks on the door before he pushed it open.

Seven seconds to pull out his phone and dial the police as he stared upon the lifeless body of Chan.

Seven minutes before the ambulance arrived.

Seven paramedics rushing into the house with a stretcher.

Seven seconds to pull Chan out of the bed and lay him out.

Seven minutes of trying to revive Chan in the ambulance.

Seven people all agreeing he was dead.

Seven days until the funeral.

Seven hundred people showing up to grieve the life of the man none of them truly knew.

Eight graves side by side.

Eight young boys.

Six feet under.

\--

Bang Chan had fallen apart.

Much too far to be saved.

Bang Chan had lost everything.

Including his own life.

Bang Chan had not deserved such a cruel fate.

But the universe had given it to him anyways.

Bang Chan had deserved a long and happy life.

But the universe had taken it away.

If only it would give something back.

But the graves were there.

The fact that eight young men had lost their lives could not be changed.

The fact that Bang Chan had been broken could not be changed.

Bang Chan was loved by some.

Bang Chan was hated by some.

But above all…

Bang Chan was grieved.

Bang Chan was missed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hands.

Hands.

Hands were shaking him awake.

Bang Chan should not be waking up.

Bang Chan should definitely not be waking up.

And yet his eyes opened anyways.

Seven boys surrounded him, gentle smiles on their faces. He was lying in a field of tall flowers, that if he was standing would likely go to his hips. He could not quite see the sky as the boys around him were blocking the view.

“Hello, Chan-hyung,” one of them said.

Chan stared at the puffy-cheeked boy, his face confused.

“How do you know my name?” he whispered softly, sitting up.

A different boy rolled his eyes. “Really, hyung? Stop messing around. It’s us.”   
  


Chan shook his head. “I don’t-” his eyes darted around the group. “I don’t know who you are.”

The tallest boy groaned quietly. “Great. Now we have to deal with this and getting out of here?”   
  


“Where is here?” Chan asked. “Why am I alive?”

“You’re not alive, Chan-hyung,” the smallest male explained. “You’re dead. This is...well, this is Hell.”

“And we need to get up there,” another boy said, pointing up at the sky, and Chan followed his finger.

That wasn’t the sky.

That was a  _ city _ .

Chan stared at the sky-city, confusion written all over his face. “What? How? Is that even possible?”   
  


“Not in the real world, Chan-hyung,” the puffy-cheeked boy said. “But here...yeah.”

A sudden siren could be heard in the distance, and the tallest boy swore under his breath. “We’ve got to go. Changbin-hyung, grab Chan-hyung,” he instructed, and the shortest boy quickly lifted Chan onto his shoulders before beginning to run, the rest of the boys following close behind.

Chan hit the boy’s back. “Let me go!”

“Hell no,” the boy said. “I’m not losing you again.”   
  


The sirens drew ever closer, and Chan looked behind them, his eyes widening when he saw the yellow school bus tearing through the flowers towards them. The vehicle swung out in front of them, forcing the group of boys to a stop.

The doors opened, and a figure in white stepped out of the bus. “Please enter the bus,” it said, its voice monotone and robotic.

“No!” the puffy-cheeked boy spat, backing away from the figure.

“Please enter the bus,” the figure repeated.

Chan finally freed himself from the short boy’s grip and walked towards the white figure.

“Bang Chan,” the person said. “Please enter the bus.”

Chan blinked and nodded, moving to walk up the steps.

“Chan-hyung, wait!” the short boy said.

Chan paused. “We have to get on the bus,” he said, puzzled. “Why aren’t you getting on?”   
  


The group of boys looked at each other before the tallest sighed quietly and stepped up to the bus.

“Hwang Hyunjin,” the figure droned. “Please enter the bus.”

And the boy - Hyunjin? - did.

Slowly, the others followed him.

“Seo Changbin. Please enter the bus.”

“Kim Seungmin. Please enter the bus.”

“Lee Felix. Please enter the bus.”

“Lee Minho. Please enter the bus.”

“Han Jisung. Please enter the bus.”

“Yang Jeongin. Please enter the bus.”

After they were all inside, the white-clad figure climbed inside and shut the doors. It slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, and the bus roared to life.

“Excuse me?” Chan said politely as the yellow vehicle began moving. “Where are we going?”

  
And the figure in white stared ahead, before finally speaking, its voice the same flat tone.

“District Nine.”


End file.
